


faults and flour-stains

by extasiswings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baked Goods, Canonical Character Death, Gen, I don't know where I went wrong, M/M, Pre-Slash, Spoilers for Season 3, sort of, this was supposed to be fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It wasn't your fault."</p><p>Except it was entirely his fault. Erica, Isaac, Boyd, Jackson, they were all high school students. Foolish sixteen-year-old kids that never should have been involved in any of this, never would have been involved if he hadn’t brought them into it with his pride and false confidence and ridiculous speech about how “the bite is a gift.” Now Jackson was gone, Erica was dead…how was that not his fault? Why would Stiles say that, and send a cake for emphasis? It was just another tally on the list of things that confused Derek about Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	faults and flour-stains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xerxies19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xerxies19/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Cake is (Not) A Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/908702) by [Xerxies19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xerxies19/pseuds/Xerxies19). 



> This was supposed to be Sterek fluff with baked goods. Instead it turned into Season 3 angst with baked goods and pack feels and a glimpse of fluff at the end. I own nothing about Teen Wolf. If I did, everything would be rainbows and Derek Hale would have nothing but nice things.

The first box arrived four days after they rescued Boyd and Cora and three days before Erica’s funeral. Derek wasn’t thrilled with the appearance of random packages on his doorstep, but it smelled like Stiles and chocolate and butter cream and he was so damn tired of being afraid of everything that he couldn’t find it in himself to care if the box was poisoned with wolfsbane or rigged to shoot arrows when he opened it.

 

It was a cake. A cake that wasn’t quite bakery quality but was clearly meant to look like it. There was a folded piece of paper stuffed into the side of the box next to the cake that was sticky with frosting when Derek pulled it out and even if his scent hadn’t been on it, it would be impossible not to recognize the pattern of Stiles’ writing.

 

_It wasn’t your fault._

Except that it was. It was entirely his fault. Erica, Isaac, Boyd, Jackson, they were all high school students. Foolish sixteen-year-old kids that never should have been involved in any of this, never _would have been_ involved if he hadn’t brought them into it with his pride and false confidence and ridiculous speech about how “the bite is a gift.” Now Jackson was gone, Erica was dead…how was that not his fault? Why would Stiles say that, and send a _cake_ for emphasis? It was confusing, just another tally on the list of things that confused Derek about Stiles.

 

Derek ate the cake. A few days later, he went to Erica’s funeral and hid in the shadows at the back of the church. He didn’t think about Stiles.

 

* * *

 

 

The deliveries kept coming.

 

Exactly a week after the first, Boyd brought Derek a box of cookies after school. They were peanut butter with chocolate swirls and they reminded him of his mother.

 

“Stiles said to tell you that ‘sharing is caring’ or something like that,” Boyd said. Derek rolled his eyes.

 

“Stiles isn’t half as funny as he thinks he is,” he replied. There was a note in the box, almost as short as the first one and definitely as to the point.

 

_Stop trying to keep everything to yourself. You’re not the only one who cared about her._

 

Derek’s brows furrowed as he stared down at the paper, glancing back up at Boyd when he noticed him moving toward the door. He hadn’t agreed with the first message, but he had to admit that this one was fairly accurate. Looking over his beta, Derek could see the circles under the boy’s eyes, could feel the agitation and pain that he was trying to keep hidden just below the surface.

 

“Hey, Boyd?” He called, stopping the teenager in his tracks. “Do you…do you maybe want a cookie?”

 

Maybe it was the ridiculousness of that statement coming from him of all people, or maybe it was that they were both sick of not talking to anyone about the new hole in the pack. Maybe they had both been waiting for the other to make an effort to talk. Either way, Boyd walked over to the box and took the offered sweet before taking a seat on the floor.

 

“I’ll eat this here if you don’t mind,” he said. “Just be a minute.” Derek nodded.

 

One minute turned into five minutes which turned into three hours, and when Boyd finally left, neither one of them said anything about the faint tracks of tears on his cheeks or the faint sense of healing that they were both beginning to feel.

 

Later that night, Derek pulled out his phone and texted Stiles before he could change his mind.

 

_Thank you._

 

His phone buzzed with a response almost immediately.

 

_For what?_

He didn’t reply.

 

* * *

 

 

He kicked Isaac out and there was a box the next day delivered by the boy himself.

 

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here right now any more than you want me here,” Isaac replied, masking the flicker of hurt in his eyes as he held out the package. “I was instructed to deliver this. As soon as you take it I’ll be out of your hair.”

 

This time it was brownies, chocolate with what looked like walnuts mixed in, all topped off with writing in green icing that simply said, “You fucked up.” Even with that message, there was still a note.

 

_Fix it. Use your words._

Derek caught up with Isaac in the parking lot.

 

“What do you want?” The boy muttered, sticking his hands in his pockets.

 

“Where are you staying?” Derek asked.

 

“Scott’s,” he answered, his eyes daring the other man to comment. “What’s it to you?”

 

Derek sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Isaac, I…I’m sorry, okay? I should have explained, I should have talked to you instead of just telling you to go, and I definitely shouldn’t have scared you. I’m sorry.”

 

“Are you going to tell me why at least?”

 

“Will you come back inside?”

 

Isaac looked at him carefully for a moment, but eventually his lips curved in a weak smile and he nodded. “Only if I get one of whatever it was Stilinski made. Smelled pretty awesome.”

 

He was still guarded as they walked back inside, but it was a start.

 

When Isaac went back to Scott’s house a few hours later, Derek got a text.

 

_You’re still an idiot, but at least you’re learning._

It was as close to a compliment that they ever gave each other.

 

 _I’m trying_ , he replied.

 

_Do or do not, there is no try young Skywalker._

_Star Wars references? Really?_

_Scott still hasn’t seen them. It’s a problem. In all honesty though, keep it up. You’re not doing half bad._

_I’ll take your word for it._

 

* * *

 

 

Things got messy after the fight with the Alpha Pack. Derek hadn’t intended to go to Jennifer, it just happened. He had forgotten the rest of the pack would be out of town and had gone to the school to find one of them. He definitely hadn’t intended on sleeping with her. She was there though, and when she kissed him he remembered how long it had been since he had been touched by someone, anyone, not as a form of manipulation but simply because they wanted to touch him. So he let it happen because he _wanted_ and that was something he could actually have, something he was _allowed_ to have. For a day, _just a day_ , he told himself, he could forget that he was the Alpha and had a bunch of teenagers relying on him and didn’t have to feel guilty about it. Except that he did feel guilty and he couldn’t quite figure out why so instead he pushed it to the back of his mind. Two days later, Scott showed up at the loft and shoved a box into his hands with a glare before leaving without a word.

 

It was a lemon meringue pie this time and the note read: _I’m glad you’re not dead, but you’re a real asshole._

 

Derek didn’t wait to send a text this time.

_I’m sorry._

 

He didn’t get a response.

 

* * *

 

 

Boyd was dead. Boyd was dead and Derek couldn’t help blaming himself because it didn’t matter that it was the Alpha Pack, it was his claws that did the deed, him that held his beta in those last moments as he whispered that “It was worth it.” Boyd was dead and Stiles was there, resting his hand on Derek’s shoulder as he knelt in the shallow water, shaking and shivering and feeling like he was tearing apart at the seams. Stiles stayed there for what seemed like hours, the solid weight of his hand something to focus on, a tether that proved that just maybe Derek wasn’t falling to pieces, that he might be able to put himself back together. He cried in anger and in grief because Boyd was his _pack_ , just like Erica was his pack and he didn’t know what it was like for Isaac, but for him it was as if two of his limbs had been torn from his body and he didn’t know what to do.

 

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, squeezing his shoulder gently. It was enough for him to snap out of it, to stand up and walk out the door because he needed to be alone, needed to run in the woods and figure out what he was supposed to do because this wasn’t something he could fix. So he ran, slept in the burned out remains of his old house, and after a week he had a beard and at least sixty percent of a plan and that could be good enough for a few more days. When Derek returned to the loft, he found at least three boxes piled on the kitchen counter, read the notes, and gave the rest of the contents to Cora and Isaac. He didn’t text Stiles. He didn’t know what to say. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why does Stiles keep sending you baked goods?” Peter asked, gesturing to the box of cupcakes on the counter in front of Derek.

 

“I don’t know,” he answered tersely, trying to convey with his tone that discussion on that subject was closed. “Why did you tell him about Paige?” He responded, crumpling the note that read: _Peter may have been lying, but if he wasn’t, I’m sorry about your girlfriend._

“I thought he needed to know,” Peter said nonchalantly, taking a cupcake. “It could be relevant to some of our current situations. Also, if he’s ever going to be pack—“

 

“He’s not going to be pack. Not as a wolf, anyway. He doesn’t want it.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Are you so sure about that? Have you asked him? I offered to turn him, you know. During that mess with Scott and the Argents and the Martin girl. Do you know what he said?”

 

“He said ‘no,’” Derek replied, tamping down the unexpected anger that had risen in him at the mention of Peter giving Stiles the bite.

 

Peter smiled. “He did. But he lied. There’s a part of him that wants it desperately, just like there’s a part of you that wants him to ask you for it. Because you’ll never offer it on your own, will you? Not unless there were circumstances that forced your hand.”

 

There was no way Derek could mistake the other man’s implication and he fixed him with a glare. “Let me be clear. If you create such a circumstance, I will not hesitate to put you back in the ground. You really want to test how well resurrection works a second time around?”

 

“There’s an Alpha Pack and a darach going around sacrificing the people of this town one by one and you’re worried about _me_?” Peter chuckled, completely unfazed by the threat. “My dear nephew, I won’t harm a hair on the young Mr. Stilinski’s head. However, if I may make a suggestion? Do yourself a favor. Stop lying to yourself and figure out why it is that you care so much.”

 

“Peter…”

 

“Just think about it, Derek. Do us all a favor. When you do, thank him for the cupcakes, they’re rather delicious,” he called over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.

 

Staring after him, Derek shook his head and pulled out his phone.

 

 _Why are you doing this?_ He texted.

 

_Figure it out, sourwolf. I’m not going to tell you everything. That would be too easy._

He never got the chance.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything went to hell on a Tuesday, because of course it did. Finding out that Jennifer was the darach was less of a surprise than it probably should have been and while she preoccupied them with finding the Sheriff, she completed the rest of her sacrifices and took down Deucalion. The rest of the Alpha Pack didn’t present as much of a challenge after that, especially once Ethan killed his brother to save Danny’s life and then switched sides. In the end, it was Chris Argent who took down the darach with assistance from Deaton, Stiles, and Lydia, although Derek would have preferred to have done it himself. Cora recovered, Derek brought her back to the loft, and things mostly returned to normal for the inhabitants of Beacon Hills.

 

At first, Derek was worried that the presence of three Alphas in the small town would cause problems, but Scott wasn’t interested in being anyone’s Alpha and Ethan made it clear that he didn’t want any trouble and would even be willing to join Derek’s pack to prove it.

 

It was strange for things to be quiet. For the first time since Derek returned to his hometown, he didn’t need to look over his shoulder at all times and it was…nice. The only thing he wasn’t happy about was that Stiles seemed to be avoiding him. When he asked Isaac about it, the boy had responded with a shrug and a comment about giving him space and some time. So he did. Derek stopped texting, stopped asking around about him, stopped going by his house at times to check and see if he was alright, and as far as he could tell, that was what Stiles wanted. Which is why, when Stiles showed up at the loft a month after everything had happened with a familiar box in his hands, Derek was more than a little confused.

 

“This isn’t an apology,” Stiles blurted out before Derek had a chance to open his mouth.

 

“Okay.”

 

“This isn’t an apology because while I admit that I said some things that weren’t entirely fair to you that night we went after my dad, it was my _dad_ and he’s all I have left and so I’m not apologizing for yelling at you or for the things that I said because you were being an idiot and I don’t think I need to apologize for—“

 

“You were right,” Derek said, breaking into the middle of his rant.

 

“For what was _clearly_ a stressful situation and, wait, what?” Stiles asked, cutting off in surprise.

 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for because you were right,” Derek repeated. “I was confused about Cora, about Jennifer, about a lot of things, but you’re right, it was your dad and I should have been more willing to help in the first place. You weren’t the only one who said things they regretted that night. I’m the one who should apologize. So…I’m sorry.”

 

“I, um, thank you,” the younger man replied, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected apology. “And I may not be sorry for the things I said that night, but I’ve been avoiding you and you didn’t deserve that so I guess I’m sorry too.”

 

“Why are you here, Stiles?” Derek asked.

 

“I made you a cake,” he deflected, his free hand coming up to run nervously through his hair.

 

“You’ve made me a lot of things lately and I don’t understand why, but that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

 

Stiles sighed. “Look, my mom used to bake a lot and I wanted…I was just trying to…oh hell, fine.” Then there was a hand gripping the front of Derek’s shirt and lips covering his in a soft kiss that was over so quickly that he would have thought he imagined it if the teenager in question hadn’t been standing in front of him flushing bright red.

 

“I…Stiles…”

 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. Actually please _don’t_ say anything. Just take the cake and I’ll go and we can forget this ever happened,” he rambled, pushing the box into Derek’s hands and turning to go. “By the way, dad knows everything now and he asked me to invite you to dinner, so I’ll just leave you to think about that.”

 

“Stiles—“It’s fine, Derek. Really, it’s fine. I’m an idiot and I’m sorry.”

 

Derek watched him go, wanting to stop him but unable to figure out the right words to say. After a moment of standing in the empty hallway, he growled in frustration and went back inside to grab his phone.

 

 _You’re sixteen_ , he sent after composing and deleting half a dozen texts.

 

_Seventeen. And really, we don’t have to talk about this._

_We do._

_Why?_

Why? Maybe they needed to talk about it because this thing between them had been building up to this point for over a year and they just kept ignoring it. Maybe because Stiles made an effort to build relationships with his pack and had helped them even when he had no incentive to do so. Maybe because he made Derek think about the future, made him want to make plans and rebuild the house and be a better person. That was too much though. It was too much to say, too soon and he couldn’t put that in a text.

 

_Because it’s not one-sided. It’s not just you._

_What?_

_Tell your dad I’ll come to dinner whenever._

_We ARE going to talk about this._

_We will. Just not now. There are some things I need to figure out first._

_So…can I kiss you again?_

_We’ll see._

_Just to clarify, because I’m a teenage boy who likes having things spelled out, this is you saying you like me, right? In the sense of I give you romantic warm fuzzy feelings and stuff?_

_Yes, Stiles. I like you. Warm, fuzzy feelings and all._

_Okay. Jsyk there is no way you are getting out of this conversation. Take as much time as you need, but if you start avoiding me, I WILL withhold baked goods._

_Not that. Anything but that._

_Now you’re just making fun of me._

_Perceptive._

_I think dad’s going to ask you to join the force. Just a heads up._

_Okay._

_Do you think you’ll do it?_

_Maybe. I’ve been reliably informed I look like a serial killer so it might not be a bad idea to gain some respectability._

_You really do. It’s kind of a problem. Luckily I like you anyway._

_Goodnight, Stiles._

_Night, sourwolf. I’ll see you soon._

Things weren’t perfect. If Derek was honest with himself, they probably never would be. For now though he had a job offer to look forward to, a rag-tag pack that currently wasn’t being threatened by anything, an appointment with a therapist that Deaton had recommended, and Stiles. Life was looking up.


End file.
